Volume One
"Is it just me, or is this living nightmare no longer amusing?"
Chapter 1: Where have I seen this before?
"Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities."
Running through the streets of King's Landing with half of the Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks searching for him wasn't how Marq intended to spend his day. It just sort of happened. He just wanted to spend the day in the city, hit up a few taverns with Torrhen, sing a few songs, and forget his worries about the future for the night. Rather, unfortunately, however, he was a Prince now. Just one of the many ways the bastard that sired him had screwed him over. Which meant his days of having any freedom had vanished. And on top of his duties as a squire, he hadn't been able to venture out into the city for years. God forbid he ever thought of leaving the city walls.
But when he heard tales of Daemon and Daeron talking about a betrothal, one for him no less, he may have… overreacted. In his defense, he was only fifteen, and they already wanted to tie him down, stick him in some dreary keep along the Blackwater, and expected him to be happy about it.
Which was utterly insane, in his humble opinion. There was a whole world full of wonders for him to see; in Westeros alone, there were dozens of magnificent sites. So far, he had been let outside of King's Landing once, and that was to visit the land that Daemon's keep was to be built on. A scant few miles away from the city.
This all led him to his current predicament. Running through the winding streets of the city as fast as his legs could carry him. He wanted to go to the Drunken Crow, Torrhen and his favorite tavern, but by the time he had gotten there, he had already spotted gold cloaks outside of the tavern.
He was torn out of his thought process as he slammed into someone, the two bodies falling into the street in a tangle of limbs. It took him a moment to get his bearings. But once he did, he found himself gazing upon the disappointed look of his older, by a month, brother Brynden Rivers. Instantly, the other boy's gangly arm snapped out and grabbed him by the ear.
"Do you have any idea how many people have been searching for you?" Brynden began.
"Get the feeling it's more than just one," Marq said as he yanked his head back, pulling out of Brynden's grip.
Brynden scoffed. "More than just one? Marq, you have half the damned city on the search for you. Do you have any idea how irresponsible you were running off like that? King Daeron-"
Marq began to tune out his brother's lecture: something something safety, something something responsibility, something something don't get shanked in flea bottom. He had heard it a dozen times before at this point, most of the time from Brynden.
"So I gotta ask." Marq began, cutting off Brynden mid-lecture. "Are you going to drag me back?"
"Of course." Brynden snorted. "If you thought I was going to entertain this foolish wanderlust of yours, you bumped into the wrong brother."
"Ah, come on now, that's no fun. You can't tell me you've never entertained the thought of just running away from this all? All the politics and horseshit." Marq said.
"I haven't." Brynden returned blank-faced.
"It wasn't like I was going to run away to the wall or anything. I just needed to get out of the Red Keep for a bit." Marq claimed, staring at Brynden with pleading eyes.
Brynden returned the stare evenly for a while until; eventually, he sighed. "One day."
"What?" Marq asked
"One day, I will let you run amock in the city for this one day. Then you will return, and if you don't return, I don't care what corner of the world you ran off to. I will personally drag you back to the Red Keep." Brynden laid out his terms.
"Have I ever told you that you're my favorite brother?" Marq asked.
Brynden chuckled ruefully. "Didn't Daemon teach you not to lie? Run along now before an ounce of good sense reenters my mind."
Marq dashed forward, giving Brynden a quick hug, and then turned and ran down the street—one day to spend how he pleased, from Brynden at least. There was no guarantee that the rest of the city would stop chasing him. He ran through the list of locations he knew of in his mind, and the list was worryingly short. All he knew was the Red Keep and then various taverns throughout the city.
So, to a tavern, it was. He wandered off down the street, occasionally having to stop and avoid the gazes of wandering gold cloaks until he wound up at his tavern of choice for the day. The Smashed Dragon Inn, which was perhaps the one good thing that had ever been generated from the reign of King Aegon. The story goes the tavern owner had been a soldier in the conquest of Dorne under The Young Dragon and, during a battle, saved the life of the young Aegon. For his service, King Daeron granted the man a hefty sum of gold, which he then used to open up the inn, which he named in honor of Aegon.
Marq's plans for a relaxing evening were ruined, however, as he walked into the crowded inn and sat down at a table, only to see one Aegor Rivers staring him down. Why did he have the worst fucking luck?
The tall man stood from the bar and walked over to Marq's table. He sat down across from the boy with a loud thunk. Of all his siblings, Marq liked Aegor the least, though he'd never say it to the man's face. Every interaction with him was like an interaction with a wild bear. One that could only be tamed by outshouting him and the occasional jab at Brynden. Add in the constant whispering poison into Daemon's ears, and well. Aegor might be the only living man Marq hated.
"Marq," Aegor said by way of greeting. His tone was already filled with annoyance.
"Aegor," Marq returned.
"Heard half the city is out and about looking for you right now," Aegor said.
"You heard rightly," Marq responded, muscle tensing.
"Reckon it might endear me to the Daemon some if I brought back his wayward squire," Aegor said, contemplating the idea aloud.
"Come on now, I only just got Brynden to agree to lay off-" Marq cut himself off, but the damage was already done. Aegor was naturally contrarian to anything Brynden agreed to. Which means he just poked a bear in a very cramped tavern.
"Oh?" Aegor said, his nostrils flaring as he stood. "Well, if Brynden agreed to it, then who am I to disagree?"
Marq narrowly dodged as Aegor's hand shot out to grab him by the collar. He had to think of something to cause a distraction to keep the bastard away. Quickly, he pointed at Aegor and shouted. "He's a Bracken!"
It was like a switch was flipped as the entire tavern went silent. It wasn't long before a man lunged at Aegor, screaming something about Bracken bastards, and then the entire tavern erupted. Marq took advantage of the opportunity he had created to run. Distantly hearing Aegor shout behind him.
"Marq, get back here, you little shit!" Aegor's voice slowly faded behind Marq as he gained more distance.
Two siblings dealt with in one day that far exceeded his usual one sibling per day policy. That's not to say he didn't care for them, most of them at least, but all of them were a bit much in their own ways. Hell, one of them was a fucking King. They were a drain on his sanity, and he wasn't even sure if his efforts to make it an actual family were even working. Brynden and Daemon were cordial enough, but despite his attempts when he was younger, Aegor and Brynden were still at each other's throats. Daemon and Daeron still only smiled at each other when hell froze over.
Speak of the devil, and he doth appear. Marq came to a stop in both his thoughts and movement as he turned the corner to see the smiling face of one Daemon Blackfyre staring down at him from his horse, half of the Kingsguard behind him.
"There's my wayward squire!" Daemon exclaimed.
Marq sighed. To this day, he didn't have any tricks that worked against Daemon.
"Are you well, Marq?" Daemon asked after a silence.
"I'm mourning," Marq said.
An eyebrow crawled up Daemon's forehead. "Mourning?"
"Yup. A moment of silence for the day of peace I wanted dying a painful death." Marq said.
Daemon lowered his head in mock sympathy, as did one of the knights of the Kingsguard behind him. Maybe they weren't all humorless misers.
"Back to the keep then?" Marq asked after the silence ended.
"How astute. I have it on good word that King Daeron wants you back there to, and I quote, 'make sure that fool doesn't get shanked in Flea Bottom.' This is one of the few things I agree with the man on." Daemon spoke as he spurred his horse forward a bit, close enough to grab Marq and drag him onto the horse. Marq made no moves to resist.
"So, any chance you just drag me back to the keep, and we call it even?" Marq asked as they began to ride back.
Daemon laughed. It was not a nice one. "Me and Daeron already worked together to decide on a punishment." Oh, sweet mother Mary, they worked together. He was fucked. "You are to clean the armor of myself, Baelor, Maekar, and the entire Kingsguard. If anyone of us finds an error with it, you have to restart all over again."
"That's cruel and unusual punishment," Marq complained.
"I don't think you've realized how much of a fuss you've caused. Poor Shiera nearly woke up half the castle crying when she found out you were missing." Daemon said.
Marq winced. "I didn't mean to. I just panicked a bit."
"About what?!" Daemon asked incredulously. "What panicked you so much that you fled from the Red Keep into the city without asking permission from anyone."
"I overheard you and Daeron talking about possible betrothals," Marq admitted.
"This again? You can't run from it forever, you know." Daemon said.
"There's a whole world for me to explore, and yet, for some reason, everyone expects me just to be content being locked in some dreary keep for the rest of my life," Marq complained.
"Everyone expects you to be content because you've had a better life than the majority of the populace and even the nobles of the realm," Daemon said. "Forgive them for expecting you to embrace some responsibility."
"Why do I need to deal with these responsibilities? I'm the youngest bastard son of the previous king, not the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Westeros was fine before I came along. I'm sure it'll be fine long after I'm gone. With or without me trying to take on duties."
"Aye," Daemon said slowly. "But you'll never know what impact you could leave without at least trying first. I'm not asking you to try for the Kingsguard or to be Hand of the King, but at least try. You have potential, and it'd be a shame to see you waste it in order to wander around the Kingdoms and Essos like some hedge knight."
"I'm five and ten, Daemon," Marq said. "I have time before I have to worry about responsibility. What good is my youth if I don't spend it doing stupid shit?"
"You're nearly a man grown." Daemon retorted. "You can't keep pretending you're still a child."
Marq grumbled but didn't offer up his own retort; he had been through this back and forth with Daemon nearly a dozen times over the past year alone. And countless times in years prior. It had gotten worse when Daemon had his own children, and it was like the man was trying to practice how to be a dad on Marq.
Before long, they reached the Red Keep. As the gates opened and they rode into the courtyard, Marq was greeted by the sight of Aegor and Brynden standing near one another silently. They must have returned to the keep after he had encountered them last. Aegor was now sporting a black eye. As soon as they spotted him, they both called out, "Marq!"
Daemon laughed as he and Marq dismounted. "Yes, not to worry, I've recovered him."
"Good, the little shit needs to be taught a lesson; he started a fight in a tavern when I saw him. Caused me to get this black eye." Aegor said, already stalking towards Marq.
Brynden intercepted him. "Perhaps it's not his fault you let yourself be wounded by some tavern drunk?"
Aegor's snarl only intensified. "Like you have any room to talk; you're the one that let him slip away from you in the first place."
Brynden's face darkened, and before long, a shouting match had broken out. Daemon let out a sigh. "I'll break those two up. You are to be confined to your room until supper, am I understood?"
Marq sighed. "Yes, sir."
"Ser Willem, make sure he doesn't run off again, please?" Daemon asked, to which Ser Willem gave a nod.
"I'm not that prone to running away." Marq protested, but Daemon had already turned and put himself between the shouting Brynden and Aegor.
He walked away from the courtyard, a pit forming in his gut at the sight of his fighting siblings. Off to his room, it was. Ser Willem put a hand on his shoulder as they walked as if to ensure Marq wouldn't magically teleport away. Even if he could, all Marq wanted to do right now was sleep. Running through half the city for the better part of the morning left him exhausted. By the time he had returned to his room, he hardly had the energy to do anything but collapse into his bed.
As Marq slept, he dreamed of famous knights who had existed or had yet to exist—his uncle Aemon, the Dragonknight, Ducan the Tall, Barristan the Bold.
AN: Hello, hello. I'm back. Using past tense this time, lmao. Yeah, I never really forgot about Mudd and Blood, I just. Every time I looked back at it, I fuckin hated what I had written. So here we are with take two, much like how I rewrote Southern Yankee. So yeah, Marqy Marq is back, hope y'all enjoy, call out any mistakes, and as always, have a wonderful day!